


Tonight She was Chuck

by littlelostcat



Category: Supernatural
Genre: Established Relationship, M/M, Manipulations, Mind Control, POV Outsider, Sexual Humor, Wincest - Freeform
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2012-09-11
Updated: 2012-09-11
Packaged: 2017-11-14 00:58:44
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,462
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/509630
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/littlelostcat/pseuds/littlelostcat
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>This was written for the <a href="http://spnkink-meme.livejournal.com">SPN Kink Meme</a> prompt: <i>Becky writes S/D fanfic and because she made another deal/found cursed object/book of magic/whatever what she writes happens. And plz, if it makes any sense don't write good porn, write smith that Becky would write :)</i><br/>Bonus: boys already were doing it without any help, but now they are confused, because they don't do it like Becky describes it. Maybe it's who tops who bottoms, maybe it's kinks, etc… Becky comes across Chuck's typewriter and writes her own slash fic about Sam and Dean, not realizing that it is more than just words on the page.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Tonight She was Chuck

**Author's Note:**

> Disclaimer: All characters used (Becky, Chuck, Sam and Dean) belong to the CW and Eric Kripke, alas I have no claim on them. I'm just playing with their universe for a few pages; please don't sue! I'm unfortunately unemployed. This was edited by the lovely, [l_niania](http://l_niania.livejournal.com), but all mistakes are of course my own.  
> Note/Spoilers: As for spoilers, you just need to know that Chuck and Becky were once in a relationship [as per canon]. This was originally written for the spnkink_meme a few weeks ago and I've finally gotten around to editing it. Hope it makes you laugh!

She went to Chuck’s house on a whim. Well, not a whim really. She missed him. Like, really really missed him. And not because of Sam and Dean, even though she missed them too. Especially Sam. Sam was gorgeous and tall and strong and perfect. Of course she missed him.

But she missed Chuck too. 

She missed his laugh and the way he held her, she missed watching old B-movies together and drinking cheap wine; she even missed the semi-kinky sex. She went to his house to try to fix things. Just to fix things. So when she knocked on the door and no one answered, her good mood dampened. She knocked again and nothing.

She peaked through the window beside the door, rounded the side of the house and checked out the yard, then went back to the door and pounded on the door. By the fourth knock she was angry and frustrated. Chuck was always home. Hadn’t that been one of their problems? He couldn’t leave because of the angels or he needed to be there in case Sam and/or Dean needed him. Again. 

Becky twisted the knob and felt a trickle of fear when the door opened. Why wasn’t it locked? Had something happened? Was he hurt? Oh God, was he dead? Of course he wasn’t dead. She shook her head and braced herself, then poked her head into the house and saw the neatly made living room. Through the door on the other side of the room she saw the cleaned kitchen. Like sparkling-clean cleaned kitchen. His house was never clean. 

Frowning, she checked down the street again then braced herself. She looked back into the front room and saw nothing, not even a body, then she closed her eyes and let out a breath. 

“Chuck?” Becky called out; when no one answered she opened one eye, looked through the door, then opened the other. She pushed further into the house. “I’m coming in!” 

Technically, she reasoned, this wasn’t illegal. Entering wasn’t illegal. _Breaking_ and entering was; with the door unlocked she hadn’t broken anything to get in. Or at least that’s what Chuck said Dean had said. And he would totally appreciate her taking Dean’s side. Right?

With the table cleared of mail and any newspapers, she couldn’t tell how long he’d been gone. But he was definitely gone. She spied his typewriter on his desk and the half-filled bottle of whiskey beside it, then squealed. Looking around quickly in case someone heard the squeak, she tiptoed over to the desk. Chuck was fine. He was totally fine. 

When would she get to do this again? He never let her do this. Like ever. Only He touched the typewriter, _He_ was the _writer_. And, apparently, writing was hard.

She sat at his desk and ran her fingers over the keys, then lightly ran a finger along the body of the bottle and grinned. 

What could it hurt? 

She grabbed a few sheets of paper from the stack on the floor and slid the first page into the typewriter’s roll; she linked her fingers together and stretched them over her head. Then she poured herself a glass of whiskey and began to type. She wouldn’t drink the whiskey, of course. It’s like totally alcoholic. And whiskey burns, like _really hard_. But that’s what Chuck did when he wrote. 

And tonight Becky was Chuck. 

\--------

_Dean Winchester, lifetime hunter and demon slayer, opened the bathroom door of tonight’s hotel de jour with a towel loosely knotted at his slim waist. He held another towel up to his sculpted, muscular chest and wiped at the clinging droplets. The cold air made him shiver and his nipples pebble into tiny buds. The second shiver, thought, that raced down his spine wasn’t just from the air but from the sight before him. He raised the towel to dry his short, wet locks and looked over at Sam. Beautiful Sam. An untamed arousal coursed through him and a sense of urgency drove him further into the room._

_His brother sat on the edge of the bed facing the TV, elbows bent on his jean-clad knees and the remote clutched in one hand, flicking from channel to channel looking for something to watch. He settled on channel 169 with an audible sigh._

The moans on the television were barely audible over the fan from the bathroom. “Dude,” Dean said with a smirk. “It’s not even noon.”

Sam looked over with a blush creeping up his neck, “There is nothing on but porn. Like, not even the news. Every channel has porn.”

_Dean barely heard a word, though. His eyes raked over Sam’s magnificent body and he felt himself harden. He dropped the towel at his waist and wrapped the other around his toned shoulders; then walked across the room with purpose and stood in front of Sam. Before Sam could move or know what was happening next, Dean was on him and had wrapped the towel around his shoulders, pulling him closer._

Sam looked down to where Dean was straddling him, then back to Dean’s face. The towel around his neck was damp and soaking into his shirt’s collar. “Dean?”

Dean shook his head, “Dude, I don’t know. I’m just --”

“Naked.”

“Naked and wet.” Dean tried to pull away, “Come on; let me go.”

Sam grinned and tightened his grip on Dean’s thighs.

_His hands rounded Dean’s waist, one sliding along his brother’s exceptional ass he squeezed the orb tightly, and Dean leaned closer. “Fuck me,” he begged into Sam’s ear, his breath hitching. “Fuck me hard, Sammy.”_

_Sam groaned and pulled Dean down with him onto the bed. Dean’s hands slid under Sam’s thin shirt, scratching up his stomach and twisting his nipples sharply. Dean felt the heat radiating from his brother and bit a wet line down his brother’s straining throat. He slid his wicked fingers from one nipple to the other, twisting until Sam gasped at the pleasured pain. When Sam moaned, Dean thrust his naked cock against Sam’s clothed member. Both men groaned in ecstasy-ridden pleasure._

\--------

Becky stopped; she pulled the crisp sheet of paper from the typewriter and ran her eyes over the black letters. Her first page, she thought with a shiver of excitement. 

“Man, writing is easy,” Becky whispered. She looked at the amber whiskey and gulped it down, then poured herself another. She swallowed as it burned and wiped the tears from her eyes. “Whoow. Okay. Time for the hard part.”

She giggled. _Hard_. She pulled another sheet, set it, and began again…

\-------

_When Sam moaned, Dean thrust his naked cock against Sam’s clothed member. Dean whimpered and clawed his nails down Sam’s sides, he wanted his marks along Sam’s skin. His marks._

_“Naked,” Dean ground out, “You need to be naked.”_

_“Yes,” Sam growled, his voice thick with arousal. He turned his head from side to side; his glorious hair sprawled over the white pillows and the strong line of his jaw drawing his brother’s attention. Dean looked down at the masterful body before him; toned lines blending into sleek muscle, pupils blown and cheeks flushed. His silky hair and his sweat-lined his body. When Sam bit his lower lip, his sexy dimples winked at Dean in wicked temptation._

_And Dean was never good with resisting temptation; especially when it came in the form of Sam Winchester._

_Dean tore Sam’s shirt from his body, pulling and ordering the shirt to hell and back. He wanted Sam naked. And he wanted him naked now; he wanted to feast upon Sam’s body for hours. He worked open the button on Sam’s jeans then paused._

Sam looked up then around the room, at the shirt lying in pieces on the floor and the comforter crumbled over the side of the back, and back at Dean, “What are we _doing_? It’s,” he paused when Dean thrust against his thigh, “the middle of day. And we have to check out in, like, an hour.”

“Weird, right?” Dean’s hands shook as they pulled the zipper down. His hands never shook. And why did he suddenly think Sam looked like a Greek god? 

“Witches?” Sam asked. He ground himself up as Dean pulled his jeans lower. 

“Maybe,” Dean agreed, then leaned down and worked his tongue against Sam’s shoulder, sucking and biting against his skin. “But we haven’t been near witc—Jesus, you taste like sex. I love the taste of you, Sammy.”

_Sam looked down as Dean worked along his neck, as he licked and kissed his way down Sam’s body. Dean slid Sam’s jeans completely off as he moved down. Love-bites and hickeys lined Sam’s strong belly until Dean reached Sam’s throbbing member. He looked up, his pupils blown black and wide and his plump lips red and glistening. Dean looked beautiful, Sam thought. Sea green eyes met Sam’s hazel gaze, and Dean licked his lips. He loved the sounds Sam made, made only for him. Only in moments like this. Then he looked back down at Sam's engorged cock and gasped._

_“So beautiful,” he whispered hoarsely. He caressed Sam’s rippling thighs and breathed in the heavy musk, he tugged Sam’s boxers down so that he could pull his hardened rod free. He watched the red head slide up Sam’s belly. Dean licked the crease where Sam's leg met his sex. Strength and muscle combined and Dean couldn’t stop the groan that escaped as he mouthed along the underside of Sam’s rigid cock._

_He looked up into Sam’s eyes, kept his eyes on Sam’s as he lowered his mouth onto the leaking head. Sam tried to stop himself from bucking up, tried to control himself, but Dean took him whole in a single, hot motion. Sam’s desperate moan filled the room as he bucked up fast and hard._

Jesus, Sam thought, where was this coming from? What gag reflex, he thought as he pushed into Dean’s mouth and his hand moved to the back of Dean's head. He looked down as Dean nosed his way against Sam’s stomach and he spread his legs farther while his brother hummed along his cock. 

_Dean pulled back, breathed deeply, and went down again. He was a man on a sexual mission; he wanted Sam to scream his name and forget what day it was. He wanted Sam to writhe and moan just for him. He released the thickened member with a slick pop and went down again. Then he licked his tongue along the bottom vein and let the spit slide along Sam’s balls. He ran two fingers along the underside to cup at the glistening orbs. Stroking, slowly . Stroking, faster. When Sam keened,_ fucking keened, Dean thought, _Dean finally pulled free._

_He moved his hand to jerk Sammy slowly as he crawled back up his brother’s beautiful body. He kissed into Sam’s mouth, precum and saliva mixing in their mouths. Sam tasted himself on Dean’s tongue and pulled his brother closer for more._

Dean kept jacking Sam, kept licking into his brother’s mouth, while Sam grabbed the sheets tightly and whimpered. He was frigging pornographic, Dean thought; stretched out before him, aroused and begging. Fucking witches, he thought before biting Sam’s ear.

_Every time Dean moved to kiss at Sam’s jaw, Sam moved his hand to Dean’s face and pulled him back. “More,” Sam begged, his voice hoarse with lust. “I need more.”_

_Dean stopped and slid his leg over Sam’s manly stomach, moved himself so that he hovered over his brother’s erect cock. He felt his own legs shaking with lust and exertion as he looked down._

_Sam gripped Dean’s sweat-lined hips, gripped them tighter until he felt bruises forming, then slammed Dean down in a raw act of passion and possession._

_No prep, Sam thought as pulled himself up and bit Dean’s already swollen lip._

_So tight._

_To the hilt in a single thrust._

_Dean groaned and cried out, cried out to God and Sammy, then he began to move. Sam slid a slick hand down Dean’s back, around his waist and began to stroke his neglected cock. Dean clawed at Sam and his head fell back as he praised God and heaven and Sam. As Sam jacked faster, Dean whimpered louder. He declared his love to Sam as he ran his fingers along the lines of Sam’s chest, for Sam’s gorgeous cock as he rode faster and clenched his body tighter._

_Skin to skin they were one; they were lovers and more. They were united, their bodies in exquisite sensual harmony. Together they lowered back so that Sam’s head rested on the pillow, his sweat slicked hair dark against the white cotton._

_Dean lowered his face to Sam’s ear and whispered, “Sammy, I--_

Becky looked up abruptly when the front door slammed shut and Chuck stood in the doorway with two grocery bags in his hands. 

“What are you doing?!” Chuck screamed and ran to the typewriter; fruit falling out of one of the bags and rolling under the sofa. She grabbed the pages she’d typed and the one still in the typewriter, stuffed them into her bag, and smiled up at him. Then quickly stood and backed away.

“I was looking for you, but you were out,” she squeaked and grinned as the inspired lie formed, “And I was writing you a note. But I didn’t have a pen.” She pointed to the typewriter. “So I typed it.”

Chuck stopped and looked at the typewriter, then at Becky, “You can never type on that, Becky. Ever”

“It was just a note, Chuck.” She shrugged and edged her way to the door. “Geez. But you're here now so we don't need that note. And you know what? I don’t want to leave it anymore. You’re still a controlling and angry jerk.” She pushed the pages further into her bag and cringed as the pages crinkled. 

  
\-------

  
Dean stilled and lightly traced his hands over Sam’s body, traced a line along the red marks lining Sam’s jaw. He slowly raised himself and began a slower, steadier rhythm. He traced his fingers over the welts forming on his brother’s chest and sides. The painful burn had receded and now he felt stretched, full, and alive. Sam’s grip loosened and he slid his hands from Dean’s waist to his shoulders, up his arms to slide around his neck, then he pulled Dean down and lightly kissed him. He ran his hands back down to Dean’s wrists then he linked his fingers with Dean’s. “This is better,” he whispered. 

Gently he began to thrust into Dean as Dean met him slow beat for slow beat. He lazily sucked Sam’s tongue into his mouth and lightly, playfully, bit his lower lip.

“Fucking witches,” Dean murmured. 

  



End file.
